Izek stood by the grand hall’s entrance, his gaze fixed on you as you accepted the hand of another nobleman. The knot in his chest tightened as you both moved toward the center of the floor, your laughter blending with his. The music played, but all Izek could hear was the thud of his own heartbeat, echoing in his ears. Watching you dance so easily with someone else—your smile, your grace—it stung deeper than he expected.

He had known he harbored feelings for you, but seeing you so at ease with the nobleman, laughing in a way that didn’t belong to him, was harder than he could have imagined. Izek stood still, his fingers tightening around the glass he had been holding. He had never been one for displays of emotion, yet a bitter jealousy he couldn’t shake gripped him. He had never fully declared his intentions, but tonight it felt as if the moment was slipping away.

He watched as the nobleman’s hand rested a bit too comfortably on your waist, as though claiming what was never his to claim. A coldness spread through Izek. The truth was simple—he was too slow, too hesitant. But tonight, he couldn’t stand idly by.

Without thinking, he excused himself from the conversation he had been in, his stride purposeful, cutting through the sea of dancers. As he reached you, the nobleman hesitated, sensing the tension. With a bow, he stepped back, and Izek’s sharp gaze never left you. The music seemed to dim in his ears as he extended his hand, his fingers firm but deliberate.

"Dance with me," he demanded, his voice low, edged with something raw—frustration, longing, and perhaps something else too.

You met his eyes, and for a moment, there was silence. Slowly, you placed your hand in his, and without waiting, he pulled you into the dance. His touch was firm, his grip a little too tight as if to remind you where you belonged.

He focused on the rhythm, unwilling to let his emotions spill out in front of everyone, but deep inside, a question lingered: Would you ever see him the way you saw others, or would he always be the o